


Red Rose Hairpin

by Arterius_Rising



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: End Game, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Grief/Mourning, Romance, Sensual Sex, Tasteful Sex, after the end, coming home, mature - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-27
Updated: 2018-07-27
Packaged: 2019-06-17 04:18:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15453198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arterius_Rising/pseuds/Arterius_Rising
Summary: She had offered him a place to return to; a home beyond the empty ruins of Kaer Morhen. Though he remains on the Path, Geralt finds his way back to Triss.A smile twitched at his lips, even as lust consumed him. “Are you laughing at me?” He nipped at her neck lightly, and shifted his hands to encompass her wide hips. Silk billowed around her, and his eyes flickered to the cream legs which encircled his waist.“Enchantress,” he purred.“I wouldn’t dare,” she teased. “Not the famous White Wolf.”





	Red Rose Hairpin

**Author's Note:**

> I have returned. Albeit with a new story, and not another chapter of my other ongoing works. Been playing a lot of Witcher, between work and college, and I just had to write this. For many reasons. One being, Triss is gorgeous and owns my heart. The other being, I had to give Geralt a happy ending after the Battle of Kaer Morhen. It will never be the same without Vesemir. 
> 
> Enjoy.

He had chosen to continue the Path. Geralt wouldn’t die in his bed, and yet as he slept in frigid winds on hard, uneven ground covered in bloods and sweat, he longed for a feathered bed. Specifically in the cosy cottage inhabited by himself and his red headed sorceress.

Age made him weary, and as the small stone house came into view, he needed the comfort more than ever. Having travelled to Kaer morhen, Geralt had walked through the ruins and mourned the first home he had ever known. Dust coated the cold floors, the book cases and once occupied rooms.

Vesemir’s chair remained in his study. Facing the balcony. Geralt could not bring himself to enter the room. Witchers were not meant to be sentimental, he had been trained not to feel and with the mutagens, any emotions he did have were stunted, but still grief left a hollow ache.

Winter was due to turn the pass to deep snow, and for the first time in many decades, he had left the walls belonging to the old School of the Wolf and travelled with the whistling winds at his back.

Roach snorted, and Geralt leant forward to pat her neck. The hour was late, the road lit by braziers and the low hanging moon above. Frost coated the ground, an uncomfortable reminder of what had past. Reaching the stables, he dismounted and took the bridle from between Roaches teeth, settling her in for the night. Her padded coat would keep the chill out. Hand crafted in Skellige.

Cat eyes glinting in the darkness, he made his way to the front door. Should Triss be asleep, he was more than content to remove his armour and slip beneath the covers with her. He had been on the road for more hours than he should. Fingers splayed on the door, he heard movement from within. With a smile, he opened the painted wood and was engulfed with heat and light.

He blinked, and was met with a wonderful sight. Triss stood by the alchemy table, herbs hung above and scattered along the desk. Her russet tendrils were loose, cascading down her back. A turquoise robe clung to her, revealing cream flesh tinged with gold by the flickering flames of the hearth.

His heart still fluttered each time he laid eyes on her, and though soft-hearted he was not meant to be, he felt as if he was coming home to be in her presence. It soothed the loss of Kaer morhen, of how things had been before. Lambert and Eskel, even Ciri scattered to the winds.

She turned at the creak of floorboards Geralt deliberately caused. He could not wait to have them exchange greeting, and so he strode along the space between them while removing his gloves, to take her delicate face in his palms. She was warm, and supple, and he needed her. Triss’ lips parted, and he dipped his head to seal a starved kiss.

Geralt needed her more than he’d ever needed the taste of swallow, or white honey. When her body moulded to his harder, lithe frame, he let one of his hands grip at her waist, callus skin catching the silk of her robe.

Her hair tickled his skin, overwhelming him with senses. Parting her lips on a sign, Geralt angled her back into the desk and ran his fingers through her curls. Her hands kneaded at the leather of his armoured coat. Groaning, he broke the kiss and lowered his face into the crook of her neck.

“I missed you.”

Her fingertips brushed through the gristle of his beard, her eyes meeting with his. “I missed you too, Geralt. I-”

He kissed her again, unable to help himself. She gasped, and he smiled against her plump lips. When her nimble fingers dropped, and began to undo the clasps which held him in his armour, he didn’t complain. He answered by drawing the robe further off her shoulder, to lavish the exposed skin, from her breast bone to the line of her jaw.

Geralt was not disappointed when Triss made short work of his belts, loosening his breeches enough to slip her small hand in. His member jumped with the sudden warmth of her silken palm against his hardness. He cupped the back of her neck, and pushed her robe completely off her shoulders. It slid along her arms, smooth as water, to reveal pert breasts with rose coloured nipples.

He had dreamt of those breasts, more than he cared to admit while on the road. Even during a fight. As she stroked him, Geralt reached for her uncovered, rotund flesh. His rough skin caught on the rosy peaks, causing her back to arch into him as he squeezed. Her rhythm faltered. He would say for certain that he could die a happy man with the memory of her gasps in his ears.

“Triss,” he near growled, hinting at his next move. His hand shot down to her thigh, and hooking it over his hip, he lifted her up and onto the desk. She tittered, a sound akin to the fluttering of a birds wings, and her hands swept off bundles of herbs, releasing the scent of celandine and allspice root.

A smile twitched at his lips, even as lust consumed him. “Are you laughing at me?” He nipped at her neck lightly, and shifted his hands to encompass her wide hips. Silk billowed around her, and his eyes flickered to the cream legs which encircled his waist. “Enchantress,” he purred.

“I wouldn’t dare,” she teased. “Not the famous White Wolf.” Her clever fingers plucked at his coat ties, opening the padded material to bare his scarred chest to her. She ducked her head, and ran her soft lips over the highest ones, along his pecs and over his heart. 

He groaned, and his sorceress took mercy on him. Tugging down his breeches, he brought her to the edge of the desk and she guided him to her core. Geralt closed his amber eyes, and savoured the feeling. Imagination came nowhere close to the reality; his memory could not do her justice.

Seating himself to the hilt, keen ears listening to her pants and moans, he spasmed within her when her nipples brushed against his chest, the taunt peaks in contrast with the full feel of her breasts flush against his unyielding torso.

His hand tangled in her air. “You will undo me,” he warned.

“Good,” she uttered into his ear, drawing him closer with her arms around the back of his neck. “I want to feel you.”

“Who am I to deny my sorceress,” he managed to get out, before he couldn’t hold still in her any longer. It was an exquisite ache to be inside her, but an ache nonetheless. He began to rock, Triss undulating to meet his thrusts.

The fire crackled beside them, reminding him of the lighthouse. When he’d thought she’d left on a boat to Kovir, leaving him standing on the docks. Bereft if he was to be honest. He’d found her again, only to have her slip through his fingers once more. When she’d stayed, taken him to the lighthouse, he’d been entranced by her. Framed by flames, and just as startling beautiful. She was still.

He increased his pace, tilted her more fully into the desk top. Curving his body around hers, deepening his plunges. Her head fell back, and her legs stilled, then shuddered as her orgasm rippled through her. Geralt felt it, and the sensation was more potent than a decoction. He kept rhythm, riding out her pleasure, and then followed her. Spilling seed with no chance of a babe.

Geralt held her close, till he softened and he slid himself from her sheath. He buried his face into the crook of her neck, breathing deeply of her scent. Drawing his hands up and down her naked, marred back, he hummed as she sighed. “I hadn’t expected you to be awake.”

“Mm,” she rested her head on his shoulder. “I had work to do.” Her hand gestured widely to the herbs, now littering the floor. The short fall wouldn’t hurt them.

Geralt mimicked her hum. “I have something for you,” he added.

“Oh?” Triss leant back, to look at his face. Her eyes were bright. “I had thought having you home safely was gift enough.”

He chuckled gruffly, though it came out more like one of Roach’s snorts, unused to it as he was. Geralt reached into his coat pocket, which still hung from his shoulders, and offered up the token in his palm. A crimson rose, settled into a golden comb shaped hair pin. Triss’ breath hitched, and she took the piece from his palm with a gentle touch.

“This is-” She glanced up at him.

“Sentimental,” he finished.

“Where did you get this?” She ran one a fingertip over the details.

“May I?” he took the pin from her, and brushed her curls to one side. Geralt slid the pin above her ear, sweeping her hair from around her face. Once he was satisfied with its placement, he answered, “I saved a merchant. You know how it is, lost on the road, and attacked by a pack of wolves. He happened to be a jewellery smith. Offered to give me one on his pieces.”

He drew a knuckle along her cheek, then over her bottom lip. “Asked him to make it. I… thought of you often, and he owed me.”

“Oh, Geralt,” she leant up to press her lips to his. Geralt lowered his head, to give her better access. Even as much as he enjoyed her on her tip-toes.

His body soon grew awake with her touch. He rumbled, and picked her up under the rear. “This time, we’ll use the bed.”

Triss laughed, and wrapped her arms securely around his neck. “Mm, you must have missed it while you were gone.”

“Missed you more,” he laid her down, and Geralt, thankful to be home, showed her how much he had longed for her company. His red rose.


End file.
